


Take Me Somewhere

by IamShadow21



Series: Leaky Cauldron [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Attraction, Aurors, Bad Days, Bars and Pubs, Canon Character of Color, Canon Compliant, Casual Sex, Closet Sex, Closeted Character, Cruising, Cursebreaking, Curses, Enthusiastic Consent, First Time, First Time Bottoming, Friendship, Gift Fic, Hand Injury (Temporary), M/M, Male Character of Color, Positive First Time, Prequel, Public Sex, Sexual Inexperience, Virginity, informed consent, safe sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-15
Updated: 2008-03-15
Packaged: 2018-01-03 08:36:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1068359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IamShadow21/pseuds/IamShadow21
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bill finds the antidote for a bad day at the office. <i>Takes place November, 1989.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Take Me Somewhere

**Author's Note:**

  * For [redsnake05](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redsnake05/gifts).



> An early birthday present for redsnake05! For you, I wrote an explicit PWP. Who would have thought it?
> 
> This was _supposed_ to be my Helmet Fest fic. I received my prompt "the back room at the Leaky Cauldron", started writing, and a few pages in realised it was missing the vital ingredient - Ron.
> 
> So, it's just a random rarepair fic based on the prompt instead.

Bill sat at the bar in the Leaky Cauldron, staring moodily into his pint. It had been an atrocious day. The fingers of his left hand still felt stiff and tingly where they’d been reattached. The Goblin Healer had smirked nastily while he’d worked.

“Be more careful next time, won’t you?” he sniggered, taking evident glee in Bill’s distress.

And it hadn’t even been a real object. It was a test dummy; a box programmed with a specific enchantment that Cursebreaker trainees had to riddle out before trying to deactivate it. Bill had got it wrong; badly wrong. And Goblins believed strongly in consequences for mistakes, in punishment that left an _impression_.

Bill took another hasty swallow, trying to drown the sick churning in his stomach at the memory of looking down at his hand. There had been blood, but what had been worst was the _wrongness_ of his index and middle fingers ending in stubs tipped with ragged bone. He’d heard himself make a terrible sound, a soft whimper of utter disbelief. A girl standing nearby had begun retching, and more than a few of the others had taken a hasty step away from their own boxes. The Goblin Supervisor had laughed, and sent him to the Healer, alone, with his severed fingers wrapped in a handkerchief.

A tall, dark-skinned man sat down on the stool next to Bill’s, letting out a heavy sigh. “Ogden’s. Neat,” he said, when Tom glanced his way. He downed the spirit hastily, then ordered a pint, which he sipped slowly, staring at the scarred bar top. This hairline was receding, though he didn’t look much older than twenty-five. He looked vaguely familiar, and Bill wondered which house he’d been in and how long ago he’d left school.

When the man sighed again, Bill couldn’t help but ask. “Rough day?”

The man grimaced. “Chewed out by my boss.” His eyes flicked up and down Bill, taking in his slumped posture. “You?”

Bill held up his hand. The deep red lines were clearly visible, and wouldn’t fade for at least two days.

The man winced sympathetically. “Ouch. You working for the Ministry? Magical Creatures?”

Bill shook his head. “Gringotts. Cursebreaker training.”

The man hissed through his teeth. “I’d take Magical Creatures over that, any day.”

Bill laughed ruefully. “Believe me, in the last few weeks I’ve thought about it, even though I never had the aptitude for it. Charlie, my little brother, he’s the one who wants to go off chasing dragons.”

“Charlie Weasley? The Seeker?” the man asked. When Bill blinked in surprise, the man smiled, a neat set of white teeth showing between his dark lips. “I read the Inter-House Quidditch column in the _Daily Prophet_. There’s a lot of talk about who he’ll sign with, once he’s got his NEWTs.” The man’s eyes were calm and politely interested, but Bill could tell that he was truly keen to know.

“They’re all going to be disappointed,” Bill smirked.

The man looked a little stunned. “You were serious about the dragon thing?” he asked.

Bill nodded. “Teams have been chasing him with contracts since the beginning of his Fifth Year, and he won’t have a bar of it.”

The man whistled softy. “That’s a shame,” he said earnestly. “He’s got the talent I never had.”

“You wanted to play?” Bill asked, draining the last mouthful and ordering a round for the pair of them with a gesture.

“I was a Beater for Gryffindor in my Sixth Year. I would have liked to play in my Seventh as well, but my parents thought it would distract me from my studies. You never played, did you, Bill?”

Bill blinked. “Er…not much. Reserve Chaser in my Fourth and Fifth Years. A lot of Practices, but I only ended up starting in a couple of matches. Sorry, I don’t -”

The man flashed that smile again. “Sorry, occupational hazard. I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m Kingsley.” He held out a broad, meaty hand. Bill took it. Kingsley’s grip was firm, and he held Bill’s hand for perhaps a moment longer than he should have.

“Occupational hazard?” Bill asked, feeling a little flushed.

“Auror. I keep catching myself using interrogation techniques in regular conversation.” Kingsley looked a little sheepish.

“You were interrogating me?” Bill asked. Kingsley nodded. “But we weren’t talking about anything.”

“You told me a lot,” Kingsley countered. “Your name. Your occupation, rank, and place of employment. You’re having some trouble there, but nothing so serious that you’re going to find a new career. You like Quidditch well enough, but not so much that you’d try to play it professionally, or follow the minor leagues in the papers. You drink Dumnonii Old, an ale commonly drunk in Devon, but not in London. Pair that with the strength of your accent, and I’d hazard a guess that you still live there, probably with your parents. Oh, and you let slip the rather juicy titbit that Charlie Weasley isn’t going to become the youngest English Captain in two hundred years, as many of the Quidditch commentators are proclaiming, but rather, he’s going globetrotting after dragons. The _Prophet_ would love the scoop on _that_ story.”

“I never said Charlie was going abroad,” Bill countered, slightly dizzy at the flood of information Kingsley had gleaned from him, neatly organised and filed for future reference, just from several minutes of conversation.

“No, that I assumed from the way you said it,” Kingsley said. “Wales is a bit close to home for a thrill seeker. My guess was Europe, or maybe Asia.”

“Probably Romania,” Bill conceded. “He was interested in a reserve in the Himalayas, too, but Mum put up too much of a fuss. Too far away for her and Dad to go and visit him.” Kingsley nodded, as though Bill was just confirming what he already knew. “You told me things too,” he added, slightly annoyed.

“Ah, but how do you know I wasn’t just telling you lies you wanted to hear, to get you to trust me?” Kingsley was relaxed, his elbow propped on the bar, his head resting on his hand. His eyes were sparkling with mischief. “And what did I actually tell you?”

Bill hastily thought back over the conversation. “You had a bad day at work. You used to play Quidditch for Gryffindor….um. Your name,” he floundered.

“I didn’t tell you my name until after I hinted at my profession,” Kingsley corrected. “I didn’t mention Quidditch until we’d talked about your brother. And I could tell from the moment I saw you slumped over your pint that you’d had a bad day. I could have just said I’d had one too, to get you to talk to me.”

“Look, are you just taking the piss, or what?” Bill said, starting to become a little annoyed. “Did you lie before?”

“No,” Kingsley said, his teasing smile replaced by a genuinely rueful expression. “I had a rotten day. I misplaced a file for a very important case. I thought I was going to get fired. Luckily, the file turned up, but I’ve got a week’s suspension without pay. As a Beater, I was more enthusiastic than talented, though if someone had told me that at sixteen, I would have been crushed. I loved the game; lived it, breathed it. Still do.”

“My baby brother’s like that,” Bill mused.

“Charlie?” Kingsley said, clearly a little confused at the contradiction.

Bill shook his head. “Ronnie. He’s nine. Loves the Cannons.”

Kingsley chuckled. “He’s forever doomed to disappointment.”

“You can’t tell him that,” Bill said. “Every time he thinks they’re going to win, and it breaks his heart when they lose. He cries buckets of tears and all, but he won’t hear of supporting another.”

“Naturally,” said Kingsley with a nod.

There was a short silence, while both men took large mouthfuls of ale.

“You knew who I was, didn’t you?” Bill realised. “Before you talked to me.”

“I’ve seen you in here a few times, lately. I know your father from the Ministry,” Kingsley admitted. “He was kind to me, when I had a rough time starting out. We have lunch together, now and then. He talks about family a fair bit. Has lots of photos up around that poky little office of his.”

“So…why _did_ you talk to me?” Bill asked, curious. “Because my dad was nice to you?”

Kingsley glanced sideways at him, a little smile curling his lips. “Because you interest me.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re a contradiction,” Kingsley elaborated. “You’re charming and very easy on the eyes, but I’ve never see you come here with anybody but work colleagues, and you never leave with anyone either. You’re confident and talented, but you seem to be looking for something, and I don’t think you’re really sure what.”

“You like me because I’m a puzzle,” Bill said, bemused.

“That bothers you?” Kingsley took a steady mouthful of ale, his eyes never leaving Bill’s face.

“I suppose I can see the attraction of it; although my puzzles tend to not be of the human variety.” Bill scratched lightly at the angry red marks. “But frankly, I don’t see myself as much of a mystery.”

“I never said you were a mystery,” Kingsley said with a slow smile. “I just think I know what you’re looking for.” 

Bill was lucky he wasn’t swallowing at that moment, because he jumped when Kingsley rested one of his hands on Bill’s upper thigh and squeezed gently, before letting go and picking up his pint again. Bill felt his face burning, and knew he’d turned an unattractive shade of crimson.

“Of course, if I’m wrong,” Kingsley continued in an easy tone, “then you can forget about it, and we can just have another drink and go our separate ways.”

Bill swallowed down the slightly sick feeling in the back of his throat and stared down into the dregs of his ale. He’d been half hard for a while, now, but that often happened when he talked to certain people; certain men. Men he found attractive. He’d gotten used to adjusting his posture to hide it, sometimes excusing himself to go to the bathroom and take care of it. He thought he’d been careful, but this man, Kingsley, had _seen_ something that convinced him Bill was... interested.

“What if you weren’t. Wrong, that is,” Bill said slowly, not looking up. “What would we do?”

“If you liked, we could go somewhere and... talk about it,” Kingsley said.

The hidden meaning wasn’t lost on Bill. “Your place?” he asked, hoping his voice wasn’t coming out as high pitched as it sounded in his ears.

Kingsley grimaced. “My place is... inconvenient, at the moment. I have a roommate who doesn’t know. It’s complicated.”

“Well, we can’t go to the Burrow,” Bill said. “Everything else aside, Mum’s been a bit, er, _watchful_ since she caught Charlie sneaking a girl _out_ this summer just gone. She said if we’re going to bring our dates home, we should at least have the decency to bring them to dinner first, so that she can interrogate them. And then she upped the wards. Charlie said she makes Mad Eye Moody look laid back.”

Kingsley laughed aloud, and the tension seemed to have eased a little, for which Bill was very grateful. “I’ll bet you could get around those wards if you wanted to, hmm?” Kingsley said with a teasing smirk.

“Of course,” Bill said simply, without a hint of arrogance, “but Dad pulled me and Charlie aside afterwards and said if we did it would be disrespectful to Mum, and if he caught a hint of us doing so, he’d be disappointed in us both. I think it even put Charlie off. If he’s snuck any more girls in, I haven’t seen a trace of it.” Bill stopped abruptly, realising he was babbling. He cleared his throat. “So where can we go, then?” he asked, shifting a little awkwardly on his bar stool.

“I think I know a place,” Kingsley said. “Shall we?”

Bill gave a nervous laugh. “I could do with that other drink first, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course,” Kingsley said immediately. He ordered them each a Firewhiskey. 

Bill nursed his for a few moments before downing it in a single swallow. The strong alcohol burned its way down to his stomach, smudging and blurring the thread of panic in his mind to a vague feeling of anxiousness. 

He set the glass back on the bar and turned to Kingsley, who was watching him carefully. When Bill didn’t say anything, Kingsley stood and jerked his head, indicating Bill should follow. Bill got off the stool and trailed after Kingsley, not towards the street door or the entry to Diagon as he’d expected, but deeper into the pub. He took a short series of steps in quick succession to catch up with Kingsley’s prowling stride.

“I thought Tom didn’t rent rooms by the hour,” he murmured in an undertone.

“He doesn’t,” Kingsley replied softly. “This is it.”

It was a rough, low doorway set deep into the wall. Kingsley and Bill both had to duck, and inside was very, very dark. When the door clicked closed, Bill had a sudden image of himself, robbed and left, because _what did he know about this man, really?_ when Kingsley murmured a spell and the room flickered into semi brightness.

“Is that safe?” Bill murmured nervously, eyeing the handful of flame Kingsley was tipping into a dusty, empty jar by the door, and the walls lined with barrel upon barrel of what was clearly alcohol, judging by the pungent smell.

“Haven’t you used bluebell flames before?” Kingsley asked. When Bill shook his head, Kingsley continued. “It’s a bit obscure, I suppose. Useful, though. It has the appearance of fire, but there’s no true combustion going on. It’ll react like flame would to wind, and water.” At this he blew a puff of breath into the jar, and the flames danced erratically. “But it won’t ignite the alcohol fumes. All it does is produce light and a bit of heat; not much, of course.” Bill swallowed hard; Kingsley had tossed aside his outer robes, and had begun unbuttoning his shirt. “You might want to learn it,” Kingsley was continuing, in a conversational tone. “The spell is a variant on Goblin magic; they use it in the mines, I think.”

“Right,” Bill replied, without really hearing what had just been said. Kingsley had just let his shirt gape, fully open from neck to navel, and the enormity of what he was about to do – what they were about to do – hit him like a Bludger.

“Come here,” Kingsley said softly, holding out a hand.

Bill felt his heavy feet shuffle forward. Kingsley grasped Bill’s hand and lifted it up, pressing it against the exposed skin of his chest. Bill wished that his hand wasn’t so clammy, that his fingers weren’t trembling, that he wasn’t acting like some bloody shrinking virgin witch. Kingsley’s muscles were hard and defined; Bill traced them, curiously. He raised his other hand and splayed his fingers wide across Kingsley’s ribs. Kingsley made a small humming noise of approval when Bill’s palms rubbed across his nipples and up to his shoulders to push the shirt off. Kingsley let it fall to the floor, slid his arms around Bill’s waist, and bent forward to kiss him.

Kissing Kingsley wasn’t like kissing a girl. He was more aggressive, for one. He held the back of Bill’s head and kissed the breath out of him, their tongues tangling roughly, demandingly, as though some contest for dominance was going on. Kingsley was angular where a girl would be soft or curvy, and his chin was rough with the day’s re-growth of stubble. Kingsley didn’t smell like a girl, either. He smelled of plain soap, sweat, and something slightly spicy which Bill assumed was his brand of aftershave. Bill’s hands wandered across Kingsley’s back as Kingsley confidently explored his body; opening Bill’s robes, unbuttoning his shirt, slipping down to squeeze Bill’s arse firmly.

 _Really doing this_ , Bill thought, a little wildly, as Kingsley rubbed his fingers up and down the crack of Bill’s arse through his trousers.

“Won’t we... get caught?” Bill gasped between kisses. “This room...”

Kingsley shook his head, firmly. “They only come in here first thing of a morning, or when they have a delivery,” he explained, efficiently tugging off Bill’s outer robe and shirt. “Unless something runs out, there’s no reason to. And as you can see...” He waved a hand at the room, and Bill suddenly noticed dozens of little green lights, like fireflies in the gloom. “... they’re all full up.”

Bill met Kingsley’s eyes for a moment, and there was a raw _hunger_ there that made Bill’s breath catch in his throat.

“Gorgeous,” Kingsley murmured under his breath, cupping Bill’s face in his hands. This time, the kisses were lighter and teasing, and yet somehow more arousing than the earlier ones had been. Bill’s naked chest was pressed against Kingsley’s, and his hands had slid down to Kingsley’s hips to hold him close. Kingsley let one hand slip down, down, down between them to rub Bill’s erection through his trousers.

Bill sucked in a sharp breath and gripped Kingsley’s hips hard.

“That feel good?” Kingsley asked, stroking lightly. Bill nodded, too focussed on breathing to speak. “Touch me,” Kingsley said, as he trailed kisses down Bill’s neck. Bill found the firm line of Kingsley’s cock and pressed his hand against it. A hot little thrill ran through him at the soft groan that escaped Kingsley’s lips. 

More kisses, more touches, more hot, wet noises in the semi darkness, and then Kingsley was Imperturbing the door, casting protective charms and unzipping them both.

Bill shivered as the cold air hit his hot skin. “Should I take my shoes off?” he asked, feeling a bit stupid to have to ask.

“You could leave them on if you wanted to,” Kingsley replied kindly, “but you’ll be able to spread your legs wider if you take your trousers off altogether, rather than leaving them down around your ankles, and you’ll probably need your shoes off, for that.”

Kingsley toed his shoes off, hooked his thumbs in his waistband and pushed his trousers down over his hips to pool at his feet. Bill licked his lips, and hastily fumbled with his own clothing. He felt ridiculous, standing there naked, feeling the grit on the bare floorboards under his toes. And again, he was feeling panic bubbling up, looking at Kingsley’s dark cock arching up proudly from his wiry pubic hair.

“You’re... you’re very big,” he babbled.

Kingsley looked pleased, but he shook his head a little and stepped closer. “Not that much bigger,” he said, wrapping one hand around both their cocks and giving a gentle squeezing stroke. “See?”

Bill looked down and watched Kingsley stroking both of them together. “Oh, _fuck_ ,” he gasped, grabbing on to Kingsley’s hips again. 

The fingers of Kingsley’s other hand were teasing between Bill’s buttocks. Bill kissed Kingsley urgently, deeply, and when one of those fingers swiped directly across his hole, he let out a needy moan.

“Turn around,” Kingsley whispered, sounding more than a little breathless himself.

 _Not ready!_ Bill’s brain screamed at him, even as Kingsley told him to brace himself against the wall. _Shit shit shit shit shit!_ And yet a part of him had never been more ready for this in his whole life. It was achingly hard. He heard Kingsley cast a Lubrication Charm, and gritted his teeth.

At the first, ghosting touch, he flinched so hard he was sure he’d pulled muscles.

“Hey...shhh...” Kingsley soothed, rubbing Bill’s lower back and sides. “I’m not going to just shove it in you. Is that what you thought?” At Bill’s nod, Kingsley quickly reassured him. “First, just touching, and a finger or two inside you, to see if you like it. Then, if you do, I’ll prepare you properly, and only then will I fuck you, and only if you want me to. Okay?”

“Uh huh,” Bill said.

“Are you all right?” Kingsley asked.

“Fine,” Bill said with a shaky laugh. “Just a bit nervous.”

Kingsley leaned forward and planted a kiss between Bill’s shoulder blades. “Touch yourself; it’ll relax you,” Kingsley advised. Bill readjusted so one hand was free, and wrapped his fingers lightly around his softened cock.

Bill was ready this time when Kingsley’s slick fingers circled his hole. When a fingertip pressed against it, he clenched automatically, but Kingsley didn’t force it, and the finger slid in, a little at a time, as his body adjusted to the intrusion. A little in, a little out; Kingsley fingered him at a gentle, steadily increasing pace, changing angle slightly from time to time. Bill was fully hard again and feeling pretty good already when Kingsley pushed a little deeper and brushed a place inside of him that made his eyes roll back in his head.

“There?” Kingsley asked, finding it again.

Bill’s knees trembled, and he let out a low moan.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Kingsley said in an amused tone.

A little harder, a little faster. Two fingers, now, spreading wide. Kingsley’s other hand had moved down between Bill’s legs and was teasing his bollocks. Long minutes stretched out with nothing filling the silence but Bill’s gasps and moans and the wet, indecent sounds of those fingers working him expertly.

“So you want this?” Kingsley asked at length, without pausing.

“...yes...” breathed Bill. “...more...”

“All right then.”

Kingsley stretched him wider, and it felt good, but Bill _wanted_ and Bill _needed_ , and those fingers just weren’t enough any more. It still felt sudden, though, when Kingsley cast another Lubrication Charm, gripped his hip firmly and Bill felt some thing hot and huge pushing in, stretching and filling him.

“ _Fuck!_ ” Bill hissed, panting hard and squeezing his eyes shut.

Kingsley’s hands skimmed over Bill’s back, his thighs, his stomach. “Relax,” he reminded Bill, his voice not teasing now or laughing, but strained and tense. 

Bill reached down through the pain, through the _wrong but so right_ sensation of another man’s cock _just_ inside him, and focussed on the _want_ and the _need_ and stroked his flagging erection hard and fast until his racing heart slowed a little. Relaxing was harder than he would ever have thought. He was fighting against a subconscious reflex, and he gained control only to tense up twice more before Kingsley was fully inside him.

Kingsley began rocking his hips, his cock only moving tiny amounts at first, but slowly increasing. Bill was soon drenched in sweat and gasping, and when Kingsley gave a noticeably firmer thrust, hitting Bill’s prostate, Bill groaned loudly. Another, and Bill swore, bending further forward until his arm was braced against the wall from wrist to elbow, his damp forehead pillowed on it. Kingsley was mumbling things like _oh yeah_ and _so tight_ and keeping the pace steady. Holding back, making it frustratingly even and gentle and good; tantalising Bill with the promise of what it could be like if only...

“...more...” he begged. “...please...”

“Harder?” Kingsley asked, and Bill felt the hands on his hips grip tighter.

“Fuck me...” Bill pleaded.

Kingsley let out a noise between a moan and a growl, driving in hard, making Bill cry out in shock and pleasure. They fell into a rhythm, Kingsley’s hips snapping forward, Bill pushing back to meet every thrust. Each jolt to Bill’s prostate shot sparks right out to his fingers and toes. Kingsley was bent over Bill now, one hand on the wall, the other interlaced with Bill’s and moving in a blur over Bill’s cock. Bill felt Kingsley’s hips piston faster, Kingsley’s breath hot on his back, as his cock pulsed and he came so hard his knees threatened to buckle.

Kingsley moaned desperately, thrusting frantically now, all restraint gone. Bill tried to rock back in time, but his legs were like jelly and he couldn’t keep up. Instead, he let go of his soft cock to reach back and hold the top of Kingsley’s thigh. He could feel the muscles quivering under the skin, feel them contract and release repeatedly, and then contract and _hold_ for a long, protracted moment while Kingsley rode out his orgasm.

“Mmmm...” Kingsley hummed happily, once he’d got his breath back. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Bill said, still panting. “Bit wobbly.” He winced a little when Kingsley withdrew. He felt empty, loose and horribly sticky, and couldn’t repress a small sound of disgust. His thanks were heartfelt when he felt the slight fizzing sensation of a _Tergeo_ a moment later.

Bill bent over, a little stiffly, to pick up his trousers.

“Did I hurt you?” Kingsley asked. 

“No,” Bill lied.

“I shouldn’t have gone so hard,” Kingsley said, his forehead creasing with worry. “I knew it was your first time, but you said –”

“It was fantastic,” Bill said, honestly. “I loved it.”

Kingsley still looked doubtful. Bill strolled over, his trousers still unbuttoned, hanging low on his hips, and kissed Kingsley hard and deep until the other man was kissing him back with equal fervour.

“I wanted it,” Bill said, pulling back and looking Kingsley deep in the eyes. “It wasn’t rape, or whatever crap you’re telling yourself. You gave me what I needed.” One more rough kiss, tugging Kingsley’s lip with his teeth, and Bill stepped back to pick up his shirt and slip it on. They dressed in silence for a few moments.

“I’m here most days a week, if you’re interested,” Kingsley said. “Just come over and say hello, if you like.”

“I’d like that,” Bill replied. “Though, maybe we should get a room, next time.”

“If that’s what you want,” Kingsley said, smiling.

When Bill strolled out to the Floo, a few moments and one more heated kiss later, he could feel the twinges beginning in his calves and thighs, the nagging, aching burn of his abused arse. He knew that tomorrow he’d be sore, but right now, it felt good. He knew he’d be talking to Kingsley again.


End file.
